From Here, To Here
by eatrosebuds
Summary: She loves him desperately one year. Almost two years later she kisses someone else and thinks she's over him. He's clueless and remains so. or, joey realizes she'll probably never fall out of love with pacey and pacey is still as clueless as ever
1. anything less than 'i love you' is lying

July 2000

A rare late July breeze offers them a chance to intertwine, space between them almost non existent. Back pressed against his chest, his left arm is wrapped around her body, the fingers skimming down the length of her arm. She doesn't know where he begins and she ends.

Waves that break upon striking the wood of their boat lull her to serenity. She's memorizing his touch, trying to describe it as if he won't touch her again in the morning. She has his morning caresses, her favorite, described as finding your way home. The way his knuckles caress her cheek and his lips find the space between her eyes to coax her awake, his voice low and sweet. It makes her feel safe, like there's something between them no one can touch.

"How much do you love me?" He breaks the silence with a simple question just as she decides this touch is happiness. His voice is neutral and his fingers continue to skim her arm.

She's come to understand that he craves reassurance. She doesn't mind giving it to him. _'I love you',_ she thinks, _is an umbrella term._ There are a thousand ways to tell him she loves him without actually saying three words.

She decides tell him: _"I love you more than I could've ever thought possible,"_ in the morning when he awakens her with his soft caresses. For now, she keeps her eyes shut. "From here," she says.

His fingers come to a halt on her wrist and she can feel his eyes looking down on the top of her head. "What does that even mean, Jo?" His voice stays calm, his body betrays him by tensing.

She doesn't want it to end. Oh, how she despises the idea of no longer feeling safe or happiness. To her, though, it's unrealistic to believe forever is a real notion of time. It difficult, being the logical one in a relationship. She knows things will come crashing down around them. She just doesn't know when.

"I love you from here." She keeps her eyes shut.

He sits up, her body moving along with his until he untangles their limbs and retreats down to the cabin wordlessly.

January 2002

 **2 P.M.**

"Joey made two dates for the same night," Audrey informs him.

He pushes himself up off of her bed. "How Marcia Brady of you, Jo!" He looks back to Audrey and his eyebrows raise. "So tell me, who're the lucky contestants?"

"Well, behind door number one, we have nice guy-" Audrey smirks before being interrupted.

"His name is Elliot for God's sake!" She throws her hands up, eyes going wide.

"A sweet young lad who is quite smitten with our Joey. Cute, funny, wears sweater vests, which is the only strike against him thus far," Audrey grimaces and folds her arms against her chest.

He sucks in a deep breath and scrunches his nose so much so that it bares his teeth. "That's bad, so who's behind door number two?"

"Can we not do this?" She waves her right arm around.

"Ah, yes, the professor! The forbidden fruit, if you will."

His eyes widen, lower lip between his teeth for a second before he wears a grin. She knows this grin. It's the same one that used to make her stomach flop.

 **10 P.M.**

She's walking side by side with the contestant behind door number two.

"I seem to recall a certain story about a certain boy. What happened there?" Wilder questions, averting the topic away from his own failed romance.

She lets out an airy laugh, keeping her eyes on the pitch black water beneath them as she peers over the railing. "Nothing, he met someone else. Or _re-met_ her, as the case may be."

They sit on a nearby bench, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off one another. "But anyway, it's over. We're over. What can you do?"

"Start dating, I guess?" Wilder suggests.

"I guess," she laughs, "I mean, I'm trying to but…"

"But what?"

"It's just hard. It takes all this energy and effort and you no way of knowing if it's going to be worth it at the end of the day."

"No, you don't."

"So what's the point?"

"There's no point. You should probably quit. Join a convent. You'd look good in a habit."

She gives her professor the face splitting smile she's tucked away. The one _he_ always claimed as his. "Thank you. You know, you think I'm kidding, but that's a very appealing notion."

"Come on. And give up all those first crush butterflies? Never." Wilder shakes his head.

"Yeah, but that's just it. I mean, the butterflies never seem to accompany the right people, you know? The nice guys who are right for you, they never make your stomach go flip-flop."

Wilder's finger extends, he thinks about touching her but he restrains. "So who makes your stomach go flip-flop, Joey Potter?"

She pauses and gives off a wry half smile. "People who shouldn't?"

"Well, that hardly seems fair."

"Nope. Not fair at all."

It's silent between the two of them as the seconds tick away and turn into minutes. She doesn't recall the last time her heart thumped against her chest so hard like it might explode. _It's been so long since I've felt so alive,_ she thinks. They're facing each other now and she finds herself leaning in and her forbidden fruit does the same. She counts to ten in her mind. Their lips meet in tender newness for no more than three seconds. She pulls apart from Wilder in shock and tumbles over her words as she announces she better get going before Audrey goes berserk.

She pushes the door to her dorm. Her roommate is nowhere to be found, but her eyes fall across his corduroy jacket splayed out on her bed. She fishes through her purse for her phone and maneuvers her way around the keyboard until the screen reads:

RECIPIENT: Pacey Witter  
TEXT: You left your jacket in my dorm, I'll drop it off tomorrow. Night.

A hand comes up to her mouth as she lets her fingers skim her lips. She can still feel Wilder's lips pressed against hers. A small smile of remembrance forms across her face. There was a time he gave her these feelings. It all seems like a distant memory now. _So this is it?_ Her body doesn't burn any more from missing the intimacy they once shared. His once memorized morning touch is a hazy recollection and she can't remember how many freckles are on his back. She thinks of the term 'fell out of love' and knows that not what this is. It's acceptance. _It's supposed to be more heart shattering than this, isn't it?_

Her thumb hovers over the send button. Instead, she erases it and fiddles with the keys again. This time she presses send.

RECIPIENT: Pacey Witter  
TEXT: To here.

In the afternoon after her last class, she'll swing by Civilization to drop his jacket off to him and he'll ask her what her text meant. _He still doesn't get it,_ she'll think. There will be a glimmer in his eyes that makes her stomach lurch. She'll suddenly be able to recall the way his lips felt against the skin between her eyes and the fifty-three freckles on his back.

 _Forget it,_ she'll tell him. _Just a message sent too soon._


	2. thought that i was dreaming

July 2000

Pacey Witter is a simple seventeen year old boy. He reads Cosmopolitan to further his education, has a strange adoration for Hawaiian button-up shirts twice his size, and needs constant reassurance. Meaning, his girlfriend not voicing any declaration of love and opting for two meaningless words is haunting. Pushing her only works in certain situations and he isn't sure if this is a moment that calls for it. He doesn't want to be possessive - that's not who he is, nor someone he ever wants to be. She often reminds him that he is _not_ their ex-best friend. He doesn't need anything the blonde boy has, he's perfect as he comes. _The jury is still out on that one_ , he will, without a doubt, comically reply each time. There's truth to his words. He's wanted everything Dawson's had from the day they met and she was no exception. Sometimes he isn't positive she's all his and it frightens him she might always want to think she belongs to Dawson.

Confusion racks his brain as he sways in the lower hammock. His eyes rest as he listens to the waves lapping against True Love with intent, as if they have the answers to the questions he's too afraid to ask her.

Two hours later she's climbing on top of him, muttering something about how she can't sleep without him. He's too exhausted to fight it. Besides, he sleeps better with her anyway. He falls asleep counting the rises and falls of her chest against his own.

As the sun peaks through the tiny window, it coaxes him awake. He softly chuckles at the way she snores. He reminds himself not to comment on it when she's awake. The last time, he almost got thrown overboard. They're both sticky from sleeping together in the same and unnecessary second hammock they purchased. He doesn't mind it and by the way she snuggles further into him when she feels him moving, she doesn't either. Unwrapping his left arm from around her waist, his hand curls ever so slightly to run his knuckles across her cheek. His lips graze the space between her brows and he greets her, "Mornin', Potter."

"I love you more irrevocably than I could've _ever_ thought possible," she murmurs in that sweet voice that makes his heart contract; that lopsided grin tugging the corner of her lips upwards only quickens it.

Who cares about two meaningless words? There's nothing to chalk them up to but he doesn't mind. Not when he's too busy silently thanking her by smothering her face in kisses. "Ditto, Jo."

"Alright, morning breath monster. I'm starving." She speaks through giggles that sound more like music to him.

It's just him, his girl, their boat, and a whole lot of love.

January 18th, 2002

 **2 P.M.**

Despite feigned pride, flashbacks of his own downfall with Tamara are invading his mind. _Is it too protective to tell her to pick contestant behind door number one? That's not my place anymore,_ he acknowledges. It's an unspoken rule between them - not getting involved in each other's relationships or voicing disapproval, even though he can tell she isn't keen on anyone he's been involved with. So instead, thick eyebrows raise as he forces a wide grin to contort his face. Blue eyes are bouncing between the over-enthusiastic blonde and his favorite brunette who is trying to shut down the conversation.

"The professor? Been there, done that. It's good!" He exclaims, nodding his head fervently. An unfamiliar feeling settles in the pit of his stomach and a lump forms in his throat that he can't swallow.

"Unless you're not ready for a boyfriend."

He sucks in a breath at Audrey's words. Before he knows it, his body is facing the other direction and he takes several steps away, watching from a distance. His hands are stuffed in his coat pockets, fidgeting with the loose threads. He doesn't like to give himself all the credit. Dawson _did_ drop the prospect of anything between them to be with Jen (as it usually goes), but yet he just might've done the most damage.

Antsy to leave, he places the palm of his hand on Audrey's back to move her out the dorm in a quicker manner. He isn't sure he's ever been this uncomfortable in his life.

 **10 P.M.**

Looking after frat boys is proving to be tedious and he's filing this occasion away as to never let this happen again. He's caught in between a group of guys who took the initiative to throw punches at Jack. He's trying his best pull him away from the altercation and his only focus is calming bystanders down. Especially after the sound of glass shattering fills the room and blood is oozing from Jack's hand.

After an hour of damage control, he calls a cab for the drunken boy, shoving him in the backseat with a twenty dollar bill and telling the driver Grams' address. Taking in a deep breath of the brisk air as they pull away, he can't help but wonder how much better _her_ night must be going.

"Let me tell you something, Pacey. That was like, the most insane thing I've ever experienced. And I'm from freaking California! I didn't think that could ever be possible!" Audrey rambles on as he re-enters the restaurant.

Her words fly over his head as he responds, "Let me walk you back to your dorm."

The walk is mostly quiet. Except for Audrey's incessant pressing for conversation to which, he only offers her chuckles and nods of his head. She talks more than Joey and Dawson combined and he never thought _that_ was possible.

When they reach the building, she invites him in and he's positive his curt 'sure' actually means: "Sure, I'd love to check and see if Joey is home and safe."

She's not there, though. His stomach sinks.

January 19th, 2002

 **12:30 A.M.**

A text alert brings him out of his light sleep. His eyes groggily scan over the small screen. The name 'Jo' is lighting it up.

FROM: Jo  
TEXT: To here.

There she is again with two words he can't comprehend. Maybe it's because he didn't pay enough attention in 12th grade English (or his 11th grade remedial English class he also took senior year for that matter), or perhaps it's that he's never been able to figure her out completely. He brushes it off with a shrug and sets the phone down back on his dresser. It takes him an hour to fall back asleep.

 **11 A.M.**

He instantly feels her presence and makes a note of how strange it is he can still do that. She's sauntering into Civilization with a little more confidence in her walk than he remembers. There's something different, he decides. He hopes she chose the contestant behind door number one and not two. An eighteen year old in a sweater vest seems more her type than a grown man who knows better. Then again, she'd done quite a bit of growing in the summer he was gone, just as he'd done.

"Hey, Pace. You left your jacket on my bed." She holds up the brown corduroy jacket and observes it with a grimace. "You should really consider getting rid of this old thing. You have money. You work for a living," she teases and her tongue pokes out between her teeth.

It's the first time he genuinely smiles in over 24 hours. "Ah, that's where that went. I thought I gave it to Jack." He coughs to clear the lump in his throat that seems to exist whenever she's around. Chuckling when she eyes him in confusion he continues, "Outta hand frat boy problems last night."

She nods her head in understanding, lips pressed into a thin line. "Not surprised. They're not exactly the people I saw him befriending. I know he's a sports man now but frat boys?"

Pacey shakes his head at her typical criticism but he's smiling. In attempt to change the subject, he inquiries, "Hey, what did your text mean last night?" He's learning not to be afraid of asking questions. Even when he might not like the answer.

There's a moment of silence where their eyes meet. He watches as her demeanor changes from off-guard to green eyes dancing with realization and maybe even a little disappointment. It's one of the moments he wishes to be inside her brain - to know her thoughts. Then again, that could be dangerous.

"Oh, forget it. Just a message sent too soon. Texting is difficult." She huffs with a scrunch of her nose.

He's relieved to know four words have no connection. "Don't I know it, Potter. It takes me an hour to send a text to Gretchen." Once a sucker, always a sucker. Her face-splitting grin causes his stomach to churn. "But hey, you feel like stickin' 'round? I need a judge on this sweet potato souffle and Jen was no help yesterday. She was too busy trying to get me to say sexist remarks for that radio show of hers." He conveniently leaves out any mention of her sickening phone exchange with Dawson.

"Jen's good at that," she compliments the blonde and he's taken aback. It makes him wonder how much they grew as friends during the summer. She pauses to check the watch adorning her wrist and when her gaze meets his again, those eyes are sparkling. "I've got some time to kill."

They've spent the last few months walking on eggshells, only spending time together with other members of the group present. It's different this day and he can't help but envision an alternate reality where he didn't have to worry about her being involved with her English professor. She props herself up on the counter, still holding onto his jacket, paying attention to the way his fingers maneuver the knife and potato.

This will have to do for now. Just him, the girl he used to have, and a whole lot of rebuilding to be done. The love that exists between them has never been the issue.


End file.
